“You know,” she says, “I never asked for any of this. I hate this. Being like this. Stuffed full of things that make be better, faster, stronger. Cobbled together from other people, stuck with a brain that’s years ahead of my body. But you. You understand. You see a person, not a lab experiment. I do want to stay. If that’s okay?”

“On one condition,” I say. “Will please you pick a name soon? It’s really hard to refer to you without one. And I’m afraid you’ll hate the nicknames you might get, based on your age and size.”

“No one is going to make you stay. I promise. But they want you to. And so do I. You got me out of a bad place, and you’re clearly a force to be reckoned with. No one wants you to take sides, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to ask you to be on ours.”

“Wow,” she says, “that’s the first time I’ve felt like a grownup has talked to me like a person, not a child.”

“You’re not a child. If what they did to you was like what they did to me, you’ve lost your innocence.”

“We should go,” she says. “We’ve got another ten minutes before the reinforcements start swarming us.”

“Go where?”

“I was thinking we’d find your friend.”

“Who? M2?”

“That’s the one. I read all your treatment transcripts. I know a lot about you, and about her coalition. I think I’d like to regroup there.”

“But how are we going to get–”

“Listen, Margery. I like you. And I know this is probably the longest conversation you’ve had in a few months, but we gotta go. I lead, you follow. You see anybody, shoot them. I know a way out of here.”

“I’m not a clone of you. They used DNA from you and the other yous as a jumping off point, but did a little tweaking here and there. They wanted me to be stronger than you, to have your abilities, but amplified.”

“They’re making soldiers?”

“You catch on quick. They’re trying to.”

“I still don’t know what to call you.”

“They never gave me a name. I don’t want to be another Margery. Things seem to go badly for people named Margery. I’ll pick a name. Someday.”